


Unthinkable

by ScratchyWilson



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-01
Updated: 2010-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScratchyWilson/pseuds/ScratchyWilson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smallest seed of an idea can grow. The youngest seedlings take root in The Mark's mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unthinkable

It was an odd feeling to wake up from what feels like reality. But that was a dream- he hadn't really been kidnapped, and he wasn't quite sure how he had gone from a van to a hotel to some remote and snowy fortress-cum-hospital, not that it mattered. It was just a dream. Robert Fischer went through the motions of de-planing, baggage collection and customs on auto-pilot.

Although his father's body was certainly something he wasn't quite sure how to declare to the customs officer. The look of sympathy on the officer's face didn't grate on his nerves like every look or insincere condolence he'd been receiving for the past two days.

From the airport, it all seemed like a blur. Maurice Fischer had left detailed instructions about his funerary wishes. He would be looming, in every kind of figurative sense, over the proceedings, even in death. It was just the type of man he was.

 _"You know, I couldn't help but notice, but- you wouldn't be related to_ the _Maurice Fischer, would you?"_

He had heard variations of that line since he was old enough to understand that just about everyone knew of his father. His father. Who was now dead. It was still surreal. The funeral home in Pasadena had taken over preparations for the service, the cemetery had been notified, and the regular staff of the old family house had already begun looking into suitable temporary servers for the wake. Everything was moving ahead.

All Robert Fischer wanted to do was turn back time.

It didn't seem fair that he'd gotten to know his father better through The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. He had done everything his father had wanted of him; impeccable grades from all the best prep schools, continued the family legacy at Stanford-

 _"You're Maurice Fischer's son? I suppose the old robber baron money must count for something with admissions."_

-received top honors from Wharton, went to each and every corner of the Fischer Morrow empire, wherever his father hinted he might need a loyal man making decisions, without complaint. And still, all he got from the man was a gruff review of his performance and a new assignment. Robert had spent most of his adult life trying to be the man his father wanted him to be-  _I've been trying to be him_. And as he had lain on his literal death bed, Maurice Fischer only had a single word for his son.

But there was something to that, whispered, choked, "Disappointed."

He'd been over and over the cold hard fact that he was now the chief executive of Fischer Morrow Industries. The board of directors had token powers, but his father had structured the wording of the empire's legal framework so that they could never blindside the CEO. It was just the type of man he was, no, had been- unbending and unwilling to share any kind of real authority. Even with his only son. He didn't know what possessed him, but he felt stifled and excused himself from the meeting with his father's personal aide, going over endless guest-list details. He reached inside his coat pocket for his wallet, and extracted the worn photograph he had kept with him since his junior year of college.

The sight of the two of them, together, little Robbie blowing to make his pinwheel spin, calmed him. His mother had taken the picture, happy to see her boys together, enjoying a few simple pleasures. It was singular proof.

 _"Your father loved you."_

That was the long and short of it. Robert didn't know how long he had been carrying around that doubt, but it seemed to melt away.  _My father loved me_. He ignored his memories of his mother's funeral; his father had been bad with emotion. He was now at the head of Fischer Morrow Industries. He was the one making decisions, looking for loyal men to place in far flung posts.

He  _loved_  me.

After spending his entire life searching for his approval, uncertain he would ever be good enough, it seemed unthinkable that he hadn't even needed to try.

There was something to that final word. Like it was only the beginning of a thought.

He loved  _me_.

Robert Fischer presided over his father's funeral, Uncle Peter at his side, and couldn't get one unthinkable thought out of his head.


End file.
